


Language Lessons, 15: suilk (1200 words)

by ImpOfPerversity



Series: Language Lessons [15]
Category: Baroque Cycle - Neal Stephenson, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: 1 Sentence Fiction, Languages, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-07
Updated: 2005-09-07
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpOfPerversity/pseuds/ImpOfPerversity





	Language Lessons, 15: suilk (1200 words)

  
  
Jack, his prey pinned naked and sweating beneath him -- Shaftoe's tanned, muscly arms, corded with fat blue veins and the swell and tense of muscle, stretched out above his head, hands hanging loose off the end of their bed, while Jack, kneeling over him, grasped his elbows, feeling the strong rush and thud of Shaftoe's heartbeat in the tender skin beneath his thumbs -- leaned down again, his eyes fixed on Jack Shaftoe's glorious, intent blue gaze; leaned down, slow as he could, and tightened his knees warningly as Shaftoe tensed under him; Shaftoe's mouth was open, red and wet and astoundingly tempting, but Jack had an agenda, a Menu, and he'd not let himself be distracted by delights that fitted into _subsequent portions_ of his schedule; he flicked no more than the occasional glance, or two, or maybe three, t'wards that wide smiling mouth and Shaftoe's wicked teasing tongue as it looped and curled 'round Shaftoe's lower lip, already red from being bitten by Jack himself; oh, it was lovely and inviting and delicious and Jack thought for a moment of the way Shaftoe tasted, and found his own mouth watering, and he swallowed because the thought of _drooling_ upon Shaftoe's warm bare skin, while eminently understandable (and perhaps even aesthetic, in the way that sweat and seed looked so fine, beaded on that fine taut golden body), was not to be borne: instead, he leant forward more, rocking up onto his knees and stretching himself out so that their faces were nearly level, and Shaftoe's eyes began to flutter shut in anticipation of kissing -- oh, and Jack was greatly tempted, for each kiss was paradisical, 'twixt himself and Jack Shaftoe, and he could kiss Shaftoe 'til the moon went down and the sun rose, 'til the _Black Pearl_ carried them back up over the Line and all the way to London Bridge, and still never be satiated -- but tonight Jack had another ploy in mind, and besides, 'twas a fine thing, still to surprise Jack Shaftoe after all their time together (why, it must be a year and more, and for a moment Jack hung there motionless, his mouth scant inches above Shaftoe's tantalising skin, trying to reckon just _how_ long it'd been since he'd snatched Jack Shaftoe from that pestilential straw pallet in Southwark) and though Jack knew that Shaftoe'd be twitching and tugging at Jack's restraining arms, not exactly _trying_ to get free but sending unmistakable signals of impatience and encouragement Jack's way, even if he had, after all, simply been about to lean down and kiss Jack Shaftoe, slow and deep and hard, sucking on Shaftoe's tongue and letting Shaftoe's all the way in, nibbling at his lips, licking his teeth ... oh, it'd've been a fine thing, but _this_ would be finer: and Jack Sparrow, gathering his intentions, his wits and every last scrap of tantalisation available to him, dove in and fastened his mouth upon the tender hollow of Shaftoe's throat, seasoned by the sweat of their _earlier_ exertions, and began to inhale the skin, to press his teeth against it and hollow his tongue, as though his intention was truly to suck out Jack Shaftoe's _soul_ \-- a bright glowing gilded treasure that'd be, with dark hollows and a wicked glitter and leathery bat-wings, all taloned so that it could clap on to Jack's own less corporeal self and writhe and twine about it, all lewd and, mmm, very like the man himself, thought Jack with that minuscule portion of his brain not engaged in savouring the tang of Shaftoe's sweat and skin and flesh, spreading his thighs further apart so that the fierce bucking heat of Shaftoe's half-cock _just_ brushed against his own -- and suck, harder and less careful than he'd ever be on more _intimate_ parts of Shaftoe's glorious anatomy, but this was, for once, a _public_ indication of private passion, and Jack meant for it to be seen, for others to see it and know that Jack Shaftoe was _owned_ , nay, had _given himself_ to Jack (and vice versa, for Jack had every intention of encouraging Shaftoe -- a process that would involve the usual denials, cries of 'over my dead body' and pretences of coy reluctance -- to mark him likewise) and that this bond would not be broke: but what was this, Jack Shaftoe writhing, and making a muffled noise that might've been laughter; Jack raised his mouth from the reddened oval on Shaftoe's throat -- there, you could practically see the shape of that blunt gilded molar -- and shot Shaftoe a narrow-eyed, suspicious glare, and Shaftoe returned it with a look so blithely innocent that Jack _knew_ Shaftoe was laughing at him, and demanded curtly what the jest might be, but Shaftoe only laughed more open now, stretching out under Jack and shaking him with his own amusement, and spluttered something that Jack couldn't quite make out; "I most certainly am not swilling _anything_ ," he protested, "why, there's no damned rum in here at all -- d'you know, Jack, I b'lieve we might've drunk the last of it -- and I don't know --" but Shaftoe was chuckling again; "no, no, not _swilling_ , that ain't what I said, Jack," and Jack sat back (sheer coincidence, of course, that Shaftoe's half-a-prick nestled just there behind Jack's whole, newly enthusiastic cock, rubbing 'gainst his balls in a way that set them both groaning) and raised an eyebrow, signifying _hurry up and tell me what the joke is, for I've more ravaging to get on with_ : and Jack Shaftoe swallowed, and set his mouth in a firm straight line that nevertheless twitched with merriment, and said, " **suilking** , Jack, it means --" and Jack, catching the latter part of the word this time, protested, " _sulking_? what've I got to _sulk_ about, with you all naked and friendly under me, eh?" and Shaftoe laughed out loud and advised Jack to remove the corks, sealing-wax, dead rats et cetera from his ears and listen carefully, for what he, Jack Shaftoe, had accused Jack -- perfectly accurately, too -- of doing was " **suilking** , d'you hear me, Jack?" and Jack admitted that he had; "What's it mean, then?" he enquired, wondering if Shaftoe was sufficiently distracted not to notice if Jack directed one of his hands to more _sensitive_ areas of Shaftoe's anatomy, and Shaftoe -- grabbing Jack's wrist and tugging, so that Jack was pulled down onto Shaftoe's broad chest -- said, "it's a word I got off a Scots lass back in Wapping, mate, and it means _slobbering_ , making foul and bestial noises with your mouth; when you eat, mostly, but I'm certain that whatever you were doing to my throat -- you cannibal dog, Captain Sparrow! -- counts for it too," and Jack leaned even closer, so's to whisper 'gainst Jack Shaftoe's half-open mouth, and said, "aye, Jack, and you should hear the noises I'll make with my mouth on you, with my tongue in you, making my mark on you," and Shaftoe looked up at him with that heavy unfocussed blue gaze, pulling him close with his hand too, and said, "your mark's been on me this year an' more, Jack, and I doubt it'll ever come away."


End file.
